


My Excuse Is That I'm Young

by hostagesfic



Series: One Direction Rare(r) Pair Gifting 2012/13 [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He realizes that there’s a lot of shit that’s backwards about him, honestly, but he’s always been most at ease without anything to hold him down, without anything to crowd him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Excuse Is That I'm Young

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intherubble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intherubble/gifts).



> Our... Fourth? Fourth fill for the [Rare(r) Pair Gifting](http://hostagesfic.livejournal.com/3524.html): "Niall/female celebrity non 1d!genderswap (e.g. Demi Lovato, Tulisa, Kim K, etc.)" We may have twisted the prompt a bit, but hopefully that shouldn't be a problem. Title from Trust Issues by Drake. (A close second was "I can feel your body rock" from Beauty and a Beat by Justin Bieber.)

I

It’s not the first time they’ve gone out, but it’s the first in a while. They’re not alone- there’s a handful of her lot, Pixie and Sam and a few bored-looking blokes he doesn’t really know that hang around the bar. He’d been pleasantly surprised at her text- something bright and cheery he replied to with a _deff txt addy n time xx_ , figured the shoot shouldn’t be done too late and he could head home for a quick shower and bounce after.

Caroline has always been chill, sweet beyond words and naturally charming. To this day Niall is boundlessly thankful that she hasn’t deleted his number from her mobile contacts, somehow, and doesn’t dwell on the thought that she probably still has Harry’s number too. It’s easier to hug her tightly and kiss her cheek, order a pint and play catch-up, enjoy her light rasp and quick tongue as she chatters about Xtra and the radio and her neighbor’s crazy cat.

Two and a half lagers in she pulls him into the dance floor- Sam cheers him on and he has no option but to go, bring his pint with him and watch Caroline swivel her hips in time with the beat.

“You can’t just _stand_ , Niall,” she tuts, after a minute, grabs at his shoulders and pushes him from side to side until his resolve crumbles and he sways along with her, pushing a leg between hers slightly. 

She beams, but it’s quick, a flash of teeth and the tip of her tongue between her teeth and then away, back to a smirk that dimples her cheeks and brings out the crinkles around her eyes. Niall thinks she looks good like this, pleased and golden under mellow lights and a shuddering bass.

Two songs later there’s a light sheen of sweat across Caroline’s forehead and she’s grinding lazily against his thigh. The bar is low-key enough that there isn’t really anything to worry about other than a few smirks from the people around them simply because they’re so close, but still, she leans her head on his shoulder and pecks at his neck once before offering, “Wanna go back to my place, Niall?”

He didn’t see it coming, has to steady both of them with hands at her waist and look at her carefully, make sure she actually said the words he heard. But then his head is nodding before he can think it over further, and he’s running his knuckles up her side, just brushing the curve of her chest before moving a strand of hair behind her shoulder. 

They go back to the bar and Caroline picks up her purse, gives quick goodbyes and rolls her eyes when Pix catcalls, grabbing Niall’s hand and tugging him towards the exit. She lets go before they reach the door and they walk down the sidewalk with a few feet between them to avoid complications, but Niall’s never had problems with the paps, and Caroline’s keeping a low profile these days. There’s not a second glance as they get in a cab together. 

Niall’s been to Caroline’s flat twice before, always with others, but that’s not what tonight is about. She kicks her heels off at the door and he figures he might as well toe his trainers off as well. “We can skip the whole ‘do you want a drink?’ bit if you want to,” she smiles, cheeks coloring a little, and Niall steps in close, presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t want a drink, but we don’t have to like-” he starts, but she cuts him off with another kiss that, Niall guesses, means they don’t _have_ to but they will. 

She kisses like they’ve been doing this a while, like she’s familiar with his mouth and just wants to enjoy it. Hooks a leg behind his knee and pulls him in tight to her body, hitching her hips against his through their clothes and palming down his arm, fingers tightening at his elbow. It’s a long moment before he realizes that they’re moving, that she’s been edging backwards through her foyer and living room and they’re nearly to a doorway. “I’ve got a bed,” she murmurs, moist against his lips. 

“You’re my favorite person right now,” Niall blurts out, and Caroline laughs, loud and cutting through any semblance of tension in the air. They tumble into her bedroom in a mess of wandering hands, and Niall loses his tee before his knees even hit the mattress, but he does have a hand under Caroline’s bra by then, as well. 

It should be a little weird, Niall thinks, spreading his palms at the soft insides of Caroline’s thighs and pressing his thumbs in, pushing her legs up to give himself room. It should be a little weird, knowing that Harry’s been here before, this same bed and these same soft spots of her body, has looked up at her from this same angle and probably wanted her just the same as he does now. 

It should, maybe, but all Niall can think is that it _isn’t_. They both know it and they’re both thinking it and it just isn’t, it just doesn’t matter. Niall likes Caroline for that. He likes the taste of her, too, tangy sweet and hot against his face when she clamps her thighs around his head and holds him down. 

“Better be good f’more’n one,” she says, breathless from the first, and Niall wipes his chin, grins up at her. He’s got a record to beat, after all.

II

The thing he likes best about Tulisa is that she’s very much one of the lads. She’s always up for a bit of a laugh, for pretending they’re Northern twins or Americans looking for a band that isn’t even playing this festival, matching Ray-Bans perched on their noses defiantly, ridiculously, when the sun’s setting and the lady handing them their pints is looking at them like they’re absolute nitwits.

She pulls her hood up and slides her fingers across the hem of his tank, gives him a devilish smirk before yanking at him, nearly spilling his beer, and dragging him into a jammed crowd of hot bodies and dirt and sweat in front of one of the main stages, the thump of the music coming from the speakers drowning out the sounds of the side stages and the crowd.

“D’you know who’s on?” Niall asks, trying to look over the crowd and see who’s onstage and then back at Tulisa- it’s getting harder to distinguish anything through his tinted lenses, but she shrugs, and he knows as much.

“No, but it’s my favorite song now,” she screams over the bass, her teeth reflecting the stage lights. She plasters herself against him, fitting her legs around his and grinding down into his thigh, and-

And she’s not always one of the lads; certainly not when they’re packed into a sea of people and his sunglasses are still on and he pushes a hand into her pants to rub his index and middle finger at her clit, fingertips cold and wet from the condensation gathering around the plastic cup he’s now holding with his other hand.

III

He and Demi have planned this pretty much since their first skype session. Or, maybe not quite this explicitly, _we’re going to have sex_ , but it had definitely been discussed. They’d done it over the phone a couple times- quick and with more heavy breathing than dirty talk, and it had been nice, but Niall hadn’t been sure of what it _meant_ , and that made things a little weird. 

But then she had said she wanted to just be friends, and Niall had thought _okay_ , and then they’d been talking about LA and X Factor and she’d said, “We’re still having sex right?” and Niall had sort of nodded dumbly until he remembered she couldn’t see him, said, “Yeah, yes, if you want? Yeah.” 

Once he’s past the initial shock of like, knowing it’ll happen, though, he feels... pretty good. They end up going somewhere small and honestly kind of shady, and Niall wouldn’t be surprised if his security just pulls him out of there, but hers seems chill enough and they do a round of shots before their beers. Demi is confident and sweet, laughs loudly just like he does, and when she puts a warm hand on his forearm and leans into his ear, proposes moving the party somewhere quieter, Niall can’t help feeling a little smug.

They go back to her hotel, not his, because they’re eager, not stupid, and it’s easy to get in. She leans against him in the elevator, slides her hand up his shirt at the small of his back and he grins at her. She looks good tonight, better in person than he’d let himself think about, and he leans down to kiss her hair just because he can. “Sure you’re okay with this?”

Her voice is the kind of raspy-mellow that sends shivers down Niall’s spine, makes him feel like a kid carrying out the perfect plan to sneak past his parents. “Oh, yeah,” she nods, nipping below his ear and tugging him out of the elevator he didn’t even notice had been at her floor for a good few seconds.

She’s walking fast in her heels ahead of him and he has to shuffle-run to keep up, and it’s a nice reminder that he’s sporting a semi in his jeans. He really hopes he gets to fuck her tonight. He’s sure that’s a little selfish, but they’ve been talking about this a long time and. Well, he does. She’s got the door open and waiting for him, has to pull him inside, and then they’re kind of staring at each other, _what now_. 

Luckily for everyone involved, it’s just _fun_ in the end- there’s minor fumbling as she slithers out of her jeans but she’s a sight with her legs spread and Niall’s fingers inside, reeling him in by the back of the neck to detail just how many times she’d wished for this, for his fingers instead of hers. He fucks her on her back, first, kissing across her collarbones and all over her chest, but then they compromise and she bounces on his lap with his thumb at her clit, a winner across the board.

They sleep tangled up in the hotel sheets with LA all lit up outside the window, and in the morning she lies on her stomach with her arms folded under a pillow, arse up in the air far enough that he can drape over her and fuck her slowly from behind with his fingertips rubbing over her clit again, face pressed into her lavender-scented hair. He eats her out, after, wrinkling his nose at the latex taste and fucking his tongue into her until all he can taste is her, gets her loud and bossy, yanking at his hair to move him like she wants. 

IV

Katy is entirely a streak of dumb luck. Surely she must remember the times he blushed bright scarlet when she called him cute; god knows he does, and when Louis made a stupid comment about how Niall totally got a stiffy when they were watching her film, and how she’s the reason he even has a career to begin with. Surely she does, all bright red lips and blue-black hair and bejeweled dress that makes her curves look killer.

She makes him feel more like a kid than Caroline did, buzzing with adrenaline and high on the night and the people bustling around backstage, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be heading somewhere so they can be herded into a limo so they can go- somewhere, to some afterparty, he doesn’t care. 

But she’s hugging him again- taller than he is in her heels and she smells so good and she doesn’t even seem real, this close, but Niall doesn’t feel too _real_ right now either. “Got something for you in my dressing room,” she says, and tilts her head like _yeah?_ Behind him, his bandmates are chattering about something; Niall thinks he hears Zayn saying something like, “shit luck ‘bout Frank Ocean though,” and yeah, yeah, but. “I could- maybe go with you?” He tries. “To get it? That thing?”

The downside to all the adrenaline and euphoria and all those big words for how fucking high on life Niall is that night is that he struggles a little to capture it all, to remember it even seconds after it’s happened. It’s almost like snapshots in his head- the way her nail polish contrasts against his hand, and the way her dressing room is blessedly empty to begin with- although he doesn’t doubt that she could send anyone away with a single look- and the way she flicks the lock and smiles so, so sweetly, so dangerously.

“All grown up,” she says, and Niall knows he must be staring, somewhere between her eyelashes (they can’t be real, can they?) and her lips and her boobs and her... everything, really. “I guess,” he manages, and winces a bit, feels that familiar blush creeping back into his cheeks and down his throat.

She laughs and pulls him in by the hips, her back to the door; brings a hand up to cup at his neck, warm and steady. “You’re cute when you blush,” she points out, thumbs at his collar, and Niall licks his lips. “Does it go all over?”

Which fits perfectly with the situation- like Niall’s life is suddenly a porno, seriously- and isn’t overly cheesy, honestly, it _works_ , and Niall may be thinking with his dick a little but he’s allowed. He clears his throat, lips curling up at the corner. “Dunno. Y’should find out.”

Katy laughs, throaty and darkly amused, bites her lip. Her lipstick doesn’t smear, and Niall desperately wants to find out if that holds true for when she’s doing other things. “Cheeky,” she says. “I like it, always knew you were my favorite.”

They’re so close like this, her hands warm and confident at his hip and the nape of his neck, and he has to concentrate to keep from leaning forward, pressing her into the door. She must see it in his face, because she closes her eyes briefly, opens them and glances at him from under her eyelashes. “I’m accepting suggestions for your congratulations gift any time now.”

It’s too much for Niall to think about, he has to- he tips forward, hands at her waist, and kisses her. She doesn’t seem too surprised, smiling against his lips and then sucking the lower between her teeth, teasing it with her tongue before letting him lean back, gasping. “So cute,” she repeats, and squeezes the nape of his neck, sneaks fingertips into the back of his collar to rub through prickly newly-short hair. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Niall smiles, eyes down like he’s turned into a schoolgirl and Katy Perry is at fault. He clears his throat and traces a finger along the beads at her shoulder, tries to sound contemplative rather than plain eager. “Listen, how hard would’t be to get you out of this dress?”

Katy laughs again, tips her head to kiss him again, quick and sweet. “I’ve gotta change for some party, anyway. You’d only be helping, really.”

“Is there like, a zipper at least?” Niall tries, and he decides he wants to make her laugh as much as possible tonight if this is how she’ll look and sound each time, pearly teeth and long, thick lashes all bunched up.

“Why don’t you check and see?” She grins at him and raises her eyebrows, shrugs a little. Niall can’t even pretend he doesn’t watch what that does to her boobs. Sliding his hands around her waist, testing out the lines of each seam, he takes his time, and it’s a minute before his fingertips snag on the hidden zipper. She’s gone still and quiet under his touch, and it’s nice- better when he looks up and sees her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes half-lidded. And he wants to see this look on her as much as possible too.

“Go on,” she says, loud in their new quiet. “You know how to work one of those, right?”

Her dress looks just as good on the floor, Niall’s shirt strewn half across it. He only has long enough to be amazed and momentarily thankful when she unearths a condom from her impossibly tiny purse- they don’t have long enough at all for pleasantries, but she does sink to her knees and her lipstick finally does smear a bit, staining dark under the head of his cock. She pulls off with a pop, _of course_ , and as she’s rolling the condom on, asks, “Do you work out, Niall?”

“Uh,” Niall says, and looks up at her, confused. His fingers are tucked into the lace of her thong, and he’d been planning to sort of return the favor, but now he’s sort of thrown off. “Not... really?”

“Oh, well,” she shrugs, shimmies out of her panties and turns around, legs apart; looks over her shoulder with anything but innocence in her eyes, arms folded against the door.

“Oh,” he says, “Um. Right.” It’s a little bit daunting, when it actually comes down to it, standing so close to so much naked Katy Perry (because he hasn’t quite let go of calling her by her full name in his head yet), his hand loose around the base of his dick. “You’re- like this? You’re good like this? We could. Couch? Or. Um.”

She laughs again and Niall didn’t actually _mean_ to make her laugh this time, but alright. “I- I don’t know, honey, I’m cool wherever? You’re sweet.”

Niall can feel his stupid blush creeping down to his chest now, but fuck it. “I just,” he says. “I’d kinda like to see your boobs.”

Clicking her tongue, Katy slithers past him, hips swaying as she ambles over to the couch. “ _This_ is why you need to work out,” she stresses, sprawling across the couch and pushing her hair off her shoulder. “You could’ve held me up, but I suppose this’ll do.”

Niall rolls his eyes but nods. “Next time, then.” He moves her leg up against the back of the sofa, kneels onto the clear space, straddling her other thigh. “I could- d’you want me to-?”

Katy grins, palms her boobs and just gives him this _look_. “Tempting, but we don’t really have time. I’d rather you went ahead and fucked me, please?”

He nods but still drapes over her, grazes his teeth over a nipple and slips two fingers inside her, and _that’s what Katy Perry sounds like_ , his seventeen year old self rejoices in the recesses of his mind. “Aw, shit, c’mon-” she whines brokenly as he curls his fingers in, clever, pumps them a little, kissing over the curve of her breast.

“Jus’ making sure y’ready,” he mumbles, moves to her other nipple, and she exhales a laugh.

“Confident in size, are we?” Katy challenges, and he twists his hand until he can get at her clit with his thumb, rubbing tight little circles. “Okay, okay, no, fuck, come _on_ -”

Niall finally sits up and pulls his fingers out, strokes his cock a few times with the same hand before guiding himself by the base, free hand falling onto her lower belly. He pushes in slowly at first, but she whines, “We’re- have to get it going, you can do it, yeah?” and he ends up falling into a quick, selfish rhythm as she muffles her moans into her forearm, lashes fanned out over her cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, belated, propping himself on an elbow over her and trying to keep his grin smug. She’s moving insistently under him, tiny hitches of breath that make her boobs move and her stomach tense up, her thighs shifting and pressing at his hips, and she keeps _tightening_ around him, which isn’t- really playing fair, he doesn’t think. 

He lets his hand reach her clit in retaliation, fingertips tracing her cunt where he’s pushing into her for moisture and then rubbing in time with his thrusts, grunting a “C’mon, then, I’m-”

And he’s so, so embarrassingly close, he can’t help tumbling quickly after when she begins clenching involuntarily, thighs shaking with it, mouthing a few soft moans against her arm. Niall drops his head, shamelessly buries his face in her chest and thrusts unevenly through his orgasm, exhaling hotly against her skin.

Katy reaches up and wraps her arm behind his shoulders, pushes her fingers into his hair and keeps him there, and its only when he tries to pull back that he realizes she’s locked her calves behind his knees, too. “Again,” she says, hoarse and not a question. The hand not in his hair is nudging at his elbow, urging his hand to keep moving at her clit. “C’mon.”

Niall is a little dazed, but he lowers his forehead onto her sternum again, keeps his fingertips going, rubbing faster. He’s torn between wanting to pull out or to just stay there until he gets hard again and he can go for more, but he knows there isn’t enough time and she won’t let him, anyway. Second best is keeping at her clit, tracing quick circles at the very tip and pressing down on it, biting into his lip as she squeezes around his oversensitive cock.

She comes quick and easy, riding up against him and nails biting into his scalp and shoulders. “Yeah,” she breathes, and Niall thinks he might pass out, but it’ll be to the feel of her pressing her mouth to the side of his jaw sloppily, laughing warm against his ear. 

She’s still laughing when she pushes at his shoulders, sits up and grabs his face, kisses his mouth. “Not bad,” she says, and shivers. “Fuck, that was good.” Niall’s trying his best to stay cool as he holds the base of the condom, pulls out and gets it off, attempts to tie it off even as she’s sliding her tongue into his mouth. It’s a losing battle though, and he ends up dropping it to the floor and kissing her back, palming at her boobs. He’s not sure he’ll ever want to come again, doesn’t relish the idea of putting tight pants back on, or having to walk out of here or pose for a thousand pictures either, but right now? Niall is great.

V

They’ve been in London on and off for the past couple of months since tour ended, jetting to random countries around Europe for grueling press days and spending short intervals in America that scramble Niall’s brain. They get back from Spain and have a single, glorious day off before they have to go do radio rounds up north, and there’s no better day to text Amy, a casual _whole day off, feeln mcdonalds?_ that he hopes conveys his point. He can be as nonchalant as he wants with Amy and that’s, more than anything else he digs about her, a perfect reason to stick with what they have. He’s not around and she has uni and a thousand other things to worry about, and they’re much more comfortable off the glossy innards of tabloids, anyway.

 _pick you up at half past :) x_ she sends back, and Niall actually changes out of his sweats into jeans and finds a snapback that matches his t-shirt before flopping on his couch and playing Angry Birds on his phone as he waits.

She’s there on time, raised eyebrows and warm arms for a big hug as soon as he opens the door, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “Hi! C’mon, I’m starving.” 

And honestly, what better reason is there for Niall to like her? As much as he loves his bandmates, none of them are exactly the type to pick him up at his flat and let him buy twenty-piece mcnuggets for himself and then go back to his place and eat in bed with him. (Well, perhaps Zayn would, but Zayn doesn’t have boobs.) Amy’s not afraid to slap his hand away from her fries as she’s biting into her big mac, and he’s not about to make a big deal of it when she takes one of his nuggets and he lets her. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, really.

If it were anyone else, Niall might be a little weirded out by the fact that she keeps a toothbrush and hair ties in his bathroom cabinet, that there’s a couple pairs of her underwear in a drawer somewhere. But it’s Amy, and it’s just so that after they eat she can brush her teeth and wander back, pulling her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, bounce onto the bed and demand he go, too, because she wants to have a snog. 

So Niall guesses he’s okay with brushing his teeth for her and then pulling her into his lap once he’s back in bed. Hell, he can even let it slide when she pulls his snapback off and pops it on- it looks ridiculous and there’s a bump near the back where her ponytail starts, but Niall just flattens his palms at her lower back and lets her lick into his mouth exactly the way she wants.

She pulls away a few minutes later, grins at him. “Missed you.”

“‘m here now,” he replies, because it’s that simple. He pushes a little at Amy’s thighs, tries to turn roll them over but stops before he can crush her against a stray packet of ketchup off to the side because the stain would be a bitch to wash out, but mostly because he’s feeling generous. “C’mon, then, d’you- can I go down on you?”

Amy’s smile widens and she twines fingers through his hair, pretending to think about it. “I suppose,” she decides, leaning up to kiss him. It knocks the snapback off her head, and she shoves it away down the mattress, straddles his lap and fits their hips together like their mouths. “Just, y’sure that’s what _you_ wanna do? You’ve been gone forever.”

Niall flushes red before he even gets a word out, tries to keep his voice casual. “Was thinkin’ you could like, sit in my lap after,” he says, just crude enough that she’ll get it.

Amy’s mouth thins out like she’s _trying_ not to smile or laugh or something in between, and she ends up biting her lip against it, tugging at the style-free curls at the nape of his neck. “Sounds good,” she says, and she’s definitely laughing, now, against his mouth, biting his lower lip instead of her own.

Niall thinks there’s gotta be something a little bit backwards about feeling at ease- he won’t say at _home_ , that’s a bit much- with his mouth on Amy’s clit and two fingers curled up inside her. He realizes that there’s a lot of shit that’s backwards about him, honestly, but he’s always been most at ease without anything to hold him down, without anything to crowd him. There’s something undeniably familiar about Amy, however, comfortable in that they’ve done this only a handful of times, far between, but without the worry of much more than a few texts once or twice a week when he’s away.

Amy isn’t a celebrity, and Niall needs that. He needs someone to pull him back to earth, to come exactly when Niall expects her to and then know exactly where to settle her hands on his shoulders as she lowers herself into his lap, all big, light, watchful eyes.

“Yeah?” she says, sounds a little smug, tips her head and rests her forehead against his shoulder for a second before looking up at him. She doesn’t wait for him to respond before she’s reaching for something beyond him on the bed, and it takes Niall another minute to process that she’s snatched up his snapback, is perching it on her head once more, this time backwards. “Aight,” she nods. “Hit me.”

“Jesus,” Niall says, huffing out a laugh, and settles his hands at her hips, lifting her a little before pulling her back down on his cock. She’s got her legs all folded up at his sides, knees bent, and Niall can tell it’d be just as easy for her to do all the work, but he actually likes the combined effort, helping her fall into rhythm and raking his eyes up and down her body, appreciating the way his hat looks on her.

She makes an approving noise somewhere in her throat, rolls her hips and shifts and winds her arms around his neck, not tight enough to be constricting, just loose, nice. Nuzzles into his neck, still letting him move her like he wants. 

It’s not about impressing each other or trying to outdo each other, at least not this time. Amy feels good around him and he can tell she enjoys it too, if the sounds she’s making are anything to go by. It’s just another thing he likes about Amy: she’s not afraid of seeming too into it, but she’s not too cool either. It’s nice.

It’s nice, too, how he can make a particularly embarrassing sound and throw her into a fit of giggles, lowering her forehead into his neck and grazing her teeth over his skin playfully. Niall likes laughing and sex, and combining them isn’t anything but hot, a warmth that gathers in his stomach as he laughs along, too.

“So,” she says, eventually, giggly, and leans up to press their foreheads together, look at him with their eyes almost crossing. “You’ve sufficiently impressed me, yeah?”

Niall should seriously consider finding a way to keep Amy. Maybe down the line when the band isn’t so crazy and no one really gives a shit what he’s doing. He wants to do this right, doesn’t think he should let go of anyone who’s impressed by his messy flat and the way he licks barbecue sauce off his fingers and, he supposes, the way he can keep a beat for a few minutes with his hands fitted over her hipbones before it gets to be too much and he has to push a hand between them to rub at her clit before he can come.

He doesn’t quite make it, but she doesn’t seem upset; (never has, either) just rocks against him through it and then slides away, legs a little shaky, laughing at herself. She topples back on the bed and stretches out, and Niall’s hat is skewed and smushed against her hair and she’s got a hand between her legs and she looks _good_. 

Niall ties off the condom and there’s a sixty percent chance that it ends up in the bin, which he’s counting as success. He rolls over next to her and slides his fingers between hers- “here,” she mumbles, licking her lips, and he leans in, kisses her through it. 

She comes down slow, shivery when he trails his wet fingertips across her thighs and stomach, scrunching her nose at him, grinning when he licks his fingers clean and then hers. “Nap?” she says, fisting a hand in his t-shirt and sucking on his lower lip briefly. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “in a minute.” He presses his nose into the soft bits of her hair behind her ear and inhales. “You’ll stay, yeah?” 

She makes a small, pleased noise and nods, doesn’t dislodge him and doesn’t seem to be trying. “If you want.” 

Niall figures he really does.


End file.
